


still there monday morning

by thechapwiththearms



Category: Smash (TV)
Genre: Carrying, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Literally And Figuratively, M/M, SWEET BOYS, Short, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, like very mildly, only bc they never lived together, slightly canon divergent, they are tired, workaholic tom levitt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24330574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechapwiththearms/pseuds/thechapwiththearms
Summary: Sam gets home from rehearsals later than usual.
Relationships: Tom Levitt/Sam Strickland
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	still there monday morning

**Author's Note:**

> this is some super short nonsense

“Sam.

Sam?

_Sam!”_

The aforementioned dancer jolted awake at a playful but firm jab in the arm from Ivy. It had been a particularly long day at rehearsals and he had apparently dozed off in the corner during a number he wasn’t a part of. Which number exactly, he couldn’t say; he had lost track of time hours ago. Sluggishly uprighting himself, Sam stretched and cast his friend a mock-disdainful look.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Everyone’s leaving,” Ivy teased.

“Alright, alright.”

The pair gathered their belongings and made for the elevator. Sam could barely keep his eyes open. Glancing at a clock in the hallway, he noticed the time: 2:42 a.m. It wasn’t unusual for rehearsals to run over, but even by actors’ standards this was excessively late. Tom would probably be wondering where he was.

The songwriter had left a few hours prior when Sam had urged him do so; it wasn’t that he wanted to get rid of him — he loved him, and he was often the sole voice of reason amongst the chaos of the rehearsal room — but he knew that his boyfriend was a workaholic and would have stayed just as late as the performers even though he had no good reason to do so. When he had seen just how stressed Tom was getting over whatever it was he was obsessing over on this occasion, he had insisted he go home and get some rest, and told him not to wait up. It took a great deal of convincing, but he eventually caved (Sam took this as a sure sign that he was, indeed, burned out — Tom Levitt was a man of many virtues, but surrender was not usually one of them).

The excruciatingly long elevator ride to the ground floor consisted of idle chat and lots of yawning, before the heralded ‘ping!’ sounded, the doors slid open, and Sam and Ivy said their goodbyes to one another before going their separate ways. The night air was biting and although exhausted, Sam practically speed-walked home; he had every intention to pass out in bed as soon as he got there.

That was, until he opened the door and was met with a sight not unfamiliar to him; papers and folders were strewn across the floor of the apartment he and Tom shared, with his boyfriend nestled in the middle of them, legs crossed and back hunched as he bent over his notes, frantically scribbling down thoughts and crossing old ones out. He had his back turned to the door, and the only light in the room was emanating from a small lamp (or, rather, bare filament bulb on a metal base — Tom had called it ‘shabby chic’ when he bought it, much to Sam’s chagrin) perched beside him. If the papers scattered around him weren’t perceptible as sheet music, he would have looked like a cartoonish villain composing a master plan of some sort, Sam thought to himself.

Wordlessly, Sam cleared his throat.

Tom turned around with a start. He gave a nervous laugh at the sight of his boyfriend. “Hi, Sam…”

“I told you to get some rest.” He grasped for a serious tone, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face.

“I know, I just— I had a couple of things to finish, and then a couple of things turned into a lot of things and I just— you know.” He gestured vaguely.

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle; he certainly _did_ know. He couldn’t count on his fingers the amount of times he had come home to a scene like this one, or sat beside his tireless partner as he frustratedly picked out a melody on a piano, or been on the receiving end of an angry-nervous rant about how something would “never get finished on time” (it always did). It was endearing, really, even if it meant coaxing him from the piano most nights to get him to sleep.

Looking softly at his weary boyfriend, Sam made his way across the room and shifted some of the tattered papers out of the way so he could sit beside him. Tom returned his gaze before gently resting his head on the dancer’s shoulder and allowing his eyes to flutter closed. Sam placed a kiss firmly on the writer’s forehead.

“You’re working yourself to the bone, Tom.” Sam’s tone was firm but still loving, and he brought a hand up to stroke his partner’s hair as he spoke.

“I know, but this really means a lot to me, you know?” Tom echoed his boyfriend’s sweet tone.

“You’ve got to learn when to stop, baby. It’s 3 a.m.”

Tom sighed, “I know.”

“C’mere.” Sam tilted the older man’s chin up and pulled him in for a kiss.

Leaning in sleepily, he obliged and closed the gap between the two of them. No matter how engrossed in his work Tom would get, Sam was always the one that managed to pull him out of his trance. They deepened the kiss and, for a brief moment, Tom almost forgot entirely about the work surrounding him; placing a hand on Sam’s face, he smiled into the kiss. When they parted, both breathing a little heavier than before, the younger man placed another chaste kiss on Tom’s cheek and grabbed his hand before half-whispering,

“Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

Tom grinned, defeated. “Alright.”

Sam began to stand up and attempted to pull his boyfriend up with him, but the latter didn’t move.

“To-om?” He prompted in a sing-song voice.

Tom glanced around. “I’ve made such a mess, I should really clean it up. You go ahead.”

“Oh my _god_.”

Without another word, Sam let go of Tom’s hand and instead placed an arm under his legs and another around his middle, swiftly scooping him up bridal-style. The older let out a shocked giggle and a string of exclamations, but didn’t protest, instead wrapping his arms around the younger man’s neck and accepting his fate. Carefully stepping between the sheet music scattered about the floor, Sam carried Tom somewhat unsteadily towards their bedroom, thanking the heavens that their flat apartment only consisted of one floor. When they finally reached the bed (after multiple near-drops that prompted Tom to repeatedly and dramatically wail, ‘you’re gonna kill me!’), the dancer laid his boyfriend down tenderly and placed another small kiss on his forehead before turning out the lights, ridding himself of most of his clothes, and climbing in beside him.

The two men shifted so that they were both beneath the covers.

“Goodnight, baby.” Sam uttered softly.

“Goodnight.”

After a small moment of silent shuffling into their respective sleeping positions, Tom drew himself closer to Sam and wrapped an arm around the younger man’s chest from behind. He pressed a small kiss on the back of the younger’s neck before whispering against it,

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

With that, the pair drifted into a content sleep, both entirely spent from work but endlessly glad, nonetheless, to be in one another’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> i am incapable of writing anything that isn’t absolutely tooth-rottingly saccharine


End file.
